


Emotional Hopscotch

by 0neType, Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Fellcest - Freeform, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Fontcest, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Polyamory, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Threesome, We really need an auspistice in here stat, honeymustard - Freeform, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Great and Terrible Papyrus is the undisputed Master of Romance. He has seduced his brother into all his quadrants, because he is <i>just that good</i>, and everything is fantastic... until the unfortunate arrival of his cross-universe counterpart who begins opening up rifts in their relationship that he'd never even known existed.</p><p>Or: The Underfell universe has quadranted romance and Swap!Pap has absolutely no idea what's going on with these idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emotional Hopscotch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Undertale/Homestuck crossover you never knew you wanted! Except this is really only a pale (HA) imitation of a real crossover because all we've really done is take the principles of Homestuck's **[Quadrant Romance System](http://0netype.tumblr.com/post/147229711812/i-have-like-no-knowledge-of-homestuck-but-im)** and applied it specifically to Underfell. I highly recommend checking out the related content in our [respective](http://0netype.tumblr.com/tagged/understuck/chrono) [tumblrs](http://askellie.tumblr.com/tagged/emotional-hopscotch), because there's lots of sassy discussion and hilarious artwork to go along with this ridiculous idea.
> 
> Here is a quick primer on some headcanons before moving ahead:  
> \- Quadranted relationships are specific to Underfell. Underswap Pap has no idea what the hell is going on with these assholes.  
> \- Incest is more socially acceptable in Underfell due to the smaller population and the intensity and nature of quadranted relationships. Incestuous moirallegiance is particularly common, but incestuous Matesprits or Kismeses aren’t unheard of.  
> \- You can typically only have one person in any given quadrant at a time. Your Kismesis can’t also be your Matesprit. Underfell Papyrus gives no shits, however, because he is too amazing to be bound by stupid rules.  
> \- Kismesissitude is based on hate, but Matespritship is based on pity. Consider this: while Underfell Sans might be the ideal Matesprit due to the fact that he is completely hopeless and pathetic, he just can’t pity his brother. The Great and Terrible Papyrus is too amazing to be pitied.  
> \- Likewise, Underfell Papyrus has to be very exacting in his hate of Underfell Sans, because hating too hard on a 1HP monster is going to end very unsatisfying in a pile of dust.  
> \- The Fellbros are basically fucking-up each other’s quadrants by trying to fit roles they aren’t terribly suited for.  
> \- And then Swap!Pap arrives.

His brother was quite possibly the most pitiful monster in the entirety of the Underground, which created no end of trouble for the Great and Terrible Papyrus.

Everything about Sans was just so  _pathetic_ , from his stunted frame, which only looked smaller when he hunched in fear, to his drooping, exhausted eye sockets from too many nights without sleep. Worst of all was his measly ONE HP which drew in other monsters like flies to a fresh carcass, expecting a free meal only to find themselves confronted with the most miserably alluring creature they’d ever seen. Papyrus had been beating off predatory suitors with a literal bone-construct ever since Sans had reached his maturity since his brother was too USELESS to even manage that much.

Not even the backwards town of Snowdin was free of that sort of filth. The way the dogs stared at Sans, the way Grillby stared, like they wanted to pick his brother up and gently pet his skull and then steal him away to some secluded den and do unspeakable things with his weak, wretched body… UGH, the idea of it made his marrow boil with fury because Sans was HIS and ONLY HIS.

Since murdering the entire town in sheer rage was out of the question (though only because Asgore might come to attend to the problem personally, and god help him if the King of all monsters set eyes on his brother; with the former Queen gone he might very well be looking for a replacement), Papyrus had found the easiest way of keeping other monsters out of his brother’s quadrants was to occupy all of them himself, because he was the Great and Terrible Papyrus and of course he could fucking do that.

Feasibly, the rules of engagement stated he should only be able to fill one of those roles at any given time, but he kept all hopeful challengers guessing at exactly which one through a series of highly convoluted behaviours that could generously be described as confusing as fuck. He’d spend the morning publicly brawling with his brother in the streets, charitably letting Sans land a few punches on him before grinding him very satisfyingly under a booted heel, and then later that same day he’d carry his sleeping brother back home from his sentry station, glaring smugly at the ugly, jealous stares he’d receive. No one could figure out which quadrant might be safe to approach, and so Papyrus’s masterful plan had safely defended his brother’s virtue for a truly impressive span of time.

Until HE came along.

Of course his undoing would be the work of another Papyrus.

The lazy, slovenly, hoodie-wearing skeleton had quite literally dropped into their lives during the cross-universe merger. He’d gone on to ignore all the warning signs that Sans was very taken-thank-you-very-much and with no shame whatsoever had proceeded to pity the fuck out of his brother with the most underhanded of tactics. Slumping together on the couch, knees touching as they watched the bizarre amalgamation of Napstaton’s music videos and Mettaton’s deadly gameshows. Sneaking cigarettes together behind the house, as if Papyrus couldn’t smell the smoke and camaraderie on them whenever they came back in from the cold.

And the TOUCHING.

The other Papyrus was always touching his brother. A hand on the shoulder. A playful jab to the forehead. A threatening tickle to the ribs that made Sans laugh without bitterness for the first time in years.

It had to stop.

They were doing it again now, Sans sprawled out on the couch, his legs too-casually resting on the lap of the other Papyrus, whose forearms were just as nonchalantly resting on the smaller skeleton’s shins. The whole display was so disgustingly sappy he couldn’t help himself. He had to say something.

“When are you leaving?” He asked from his place by the kitchen archway, gaze focused sharply on his copy so that the recipient of his growled words could not be mistaken.

To his immense displeasure, the other Papyrus didn’t even look away from the screen. He simply gave a half-shouldered shrug from where he sat, casually rubbing a phalange in slow circles against the bare bones in his lap as if it was the most  _natural_  god damn thing in the world.

The  _nerve_  of that guy! Who in the  _fuck_  did he think he was?!

“No idea at all?” He continued as calmly as possible, refusing to give into the mind-game his cross-universe twin was  _clearly_  trying play, “Surely you need to go back soon. Don’t you have someone waiting for you?”

He felt a satisfied smirk spread across his face at the subtle jibe about the other Papyrus’s brother. He didn’t know quite yet whether they were moirails or flushed for each other but—whether his copy was engaging in straight-up red-infidelity or not—it generally wasn’t the best relationship practice to keep away from even your palemate for too long.

He watched his double keenly, ready to pounce on this weakness at the slightest sign of guilt.

“Not really.”

Papyrus started.

That… was unexpected. Was he trying to play dumb? As despicable as Papyrus found him, he didn’t really seem the type to brush off established quadrants like that.

Well, not his  _own_  anyway.

He seemed to have no trouble shoving himself into  _others_ ’.

He scowled, “I’m talking about your brother.”

Subtlety could bite him. It was becoming more and more evident as the situation progressed that some blunt reminders were necessary. If discount-Papyrus was going to act like all wide-eyed and innocuous then he’d have to force his hand.

“Sans?” He asked,  _still_  not looking up at him, and Papyrus didn’t know why he even  _bothered_  to confirm because  _just how many brothers did he_   _have_?? At least when he wasn’t  _stealing_  them from others anyway, “Nah, he’s fine. He doesn’t need me.”

Papyrus was fucking  _staggering_. What in the hell did he even mean by that?? What kind of relationship did he have that his brother didn’t need—

…  _oh_.

Wait just a second.

Had he been wrong this whole time?

It certainly wasn’t like him, but there was always a first time for everything. And if he was wrong then maybe… maybe they didn’t have anything red for each other after all? Maybe… there was actually something a little caliginous between them?  
  
The separation would certainly make sense then.  
  
Keeping a distance after serious encounters between kismesis was sometimes necessary in order to maintain a healthy relationship. Despite himself, Papyrus was a little impressed. It was a tricky thing to manage, but the other him seemed to be working it out well.  
  
Of course, it was a lot easier when you only had one unique person per quadrant.  
  
Not that he was complaining—he’d  _still_  much rather have Sans in all of his quadrants than let anyone else lay their hands on him.  
  
“Hmm, so you’re a little sick of each other right now…” He murmured the words mostly to himself, phalanges tapping at his mouth in thought. Surprise of all surprises though, his twin heard him from across the room. Even more shocking was that  _this_ —of all things,  _this_ —was what made him turn his head and look at him with a frown.  
  
“What? No, that’s not it at all,” He looked disturbed just by the notion of it, “I just mean… it’s not like he’s a kid or something, you know? He doesn’t need me hovering over him constantly.”  
  
“I see.” Papyrus responded, even though he mostly certainly did  _not_  see.  
  
Because,  _what the_   ** _fuck_**? When was his alternate going to start making sense?? At this rate, it was starting to seem like he didn’t have _anyone_ in his quadrants at _all_!

“Why the sudden questions though?” At least now Papyrus had his attention, though the focus on him made it so that Sans looked away from the TV as well. His much less attractive twin smirked, easy and slow, “Have I over-stayed my welcome?”  
  
Papyrus opened his mouth to say, ‘Yes, actually. Yes, you  _have_  overstayed your fucking welcome.’ only to be cut off by none other than the ungrateful brother he was trying to protect in the first place.  
  
“Of course not.” Sans said, and his eyelights were so  _warm_  and so  _soft_  on the skeleton beside him that Papyrus wanted to  _scream_.  
  
Except he couldn’t, because that would be playing right into the bastard’s hands. His inferior copy definitely had his eyes set on Sans’s flushed quadrant, and the easiest way to steal it from Papyrus would be to trick him into settling for a solely caliginous relationship with his brother. Not that he didn’t enjoy the occasional dalliance with his brother in that square, though it had meant he’d needed to put a stop to his own budding affair with Captain Undyne, but Papyrus refused to settle. Besides, while he had plenty of wretched childhood experiences that made it easy to hate his brother, it was far too easy to pity him, and Papyrus refused to give up those moments when he could touch his brother gently the way his shameless alternate was doing right now.  
  
The Great and Terrible Papyrus was a master of control. He swallowed his fury down like it was acid, and when he spoke there was no trace of it in his voice. Only dangerous softness. “If that’s how you feel, brother, then perhaps you can assist me in the kitchen. It would be impolite not to feed our guest and I’m not going to do all the work myself.”  
  
_As usual_ , went unsaid.  
  
“Ugh,” Sans grumbled, looking reluctant to leave his comfortable perch, but grudgingly sat up and finally withdrew his legs from the bastard’s lap. Papyrus crowed inwardly at his victory. “Fine, Boss. Whatever.”  
  
He stalked past, heading for the kitchen under Papyrus’s stern gaze. The other Papyrus watched him as well, a curious expression on his face. Was that disappointment? Suspicion? Hah! He’d surely underestimated the sway Papyrus had over Sans. It was certainly stronger than the kind of devotion that could be bought with some half-assed pity cuddling. His brother wasn’t that cheap, even if he seemed to have incredibly poor instincts when it came to his quadrants and no matter how much Papyrus tried to school him, he never seemed to learn.  
  
_Well_. Time for another lesson.  
  
Papyrus flipped his scarf in as insultingly dismissive a manner as he could manage, pointedly turning his back on the lazy free-loader and following his brother into the kitchen. Sans was waiting for him, hands deep in his pockets, looking belligerent at the prospect of work. Typical.  
  
Sans glanced around, probably trying to recall which of their many well-organised cupboards (filled mostly with spare bone attacks instead of anything edible) might actually contain food since Papyrus rotated their supplies every Thursday in case of small, thieving canines. He shuffled unhappily. “So what do you want to-HRK?!”  
  
The sullen question was cut off by Papyrus’s hand clamping down on his smaller brother’s throat and very deliberately lifting him up to eye-level. He was careful, though, not that Sans would appreciate the exquisite application of strength needed to balance the force of his grip across the breadth of his vertebrae to prevent them from cracking. He stared at his brother just long enough to convey his silent ire before carefully setting Sans down onto the nearest counter-top.  
  
Harsh, but gentle. That was how the masterful Papyrus could fill as many quadrants as he damn well pleased, though apparently his brother had forgotten that fact.  
  
“Just what the hell did you think you were doing?” he hissed, keeping his voice pitched below the murmur of the television in the next room.  
  
“I-I…uh…” Sans seemed bewildered, instinctively matching his brother’s volume even though he clearly didn’t have any idea why he should do so. He thankfully wasn’t so dense as to misconstrue the way Papyrus grabbed his femurs and pushed them apart. Sans flushed. “Boss-!”  
  
“Quiet now,” Papyrus warned quietly, eyes flicking back towards the lounge room and a wicked smile breaking over his face. Sans was  _his_ , and he would damn well prove it. “Unless you want him to hear…”  
  
Sans flinched, turning his face aside and muffling his mouth into the fur of his jacket as Papyrus leaned in and very deliberately bit down on the span of clavicle left exposed by Sans’s t-shirt.  
  
“Ah—!” His brother cried out, then desperately clenched his mouth shut, determined not to make a sound.  
  
As gratifying as it was to have Sans attempting to follow orders, that’s not what he was here for. Disingenuous? Maybe. But Papyrus was a master of puzzles and Sans would just have to step up if he wanted piece together what was going on for himself.  
  
He leaned back, set about calculating the best possible ways to make his brother as vocal as possible. Knowing his goal, there were actually a number of ways to go about getting the right response from his brother. For example, he could drop down to his knees and give Sans that rare oral performance he often craved—he’d likely be a mess just from the novelty of it. But what he had to keep in mind was that this was a reminder to Sans (as well as a tip off to paper jam Papyrus) just who his flushed quadrant  _really_  belonged to.  
  
So.  
  
Something slow.  
  
Something soft and gentle and  _lingering_.  
  
Papyrus trailed his gaze over his brother’s form. Sans was trembling slightly from anticipation, a light cast of red over his cheekbones. He hadn’t dared close his legs. Papyrus smiled to himself at the sight, a low, burning satisfaction coiling inside him.  
  
It was settled then.  
  
He’d spread his touch over his brother’s body like a paintbrush to canvas.  
  
Papyrus moved forward once more, reached out with both hands to carefully turn Sans to face him. He kept his touch feather light, let his sockets lid as his brother gave him a look of confusion. He leaned his forehead against Sans’, brushed the rough expanse of bone under his thumbs with utmost devotion.  
  
“I love you.” He said with all the sincerity he could muster.  
  
The reaction was instantaneous.  
  
Sans flushed bright red, the magic of it so potent that Papyrus could  _feel_  the heat radiating off of him, “B-boss?”  
  
Papyrus didn’t answer. Instead, he let his conjured tongue swipe across his brother’s teeth while his left hand trailed its way down to Sans’ chest. With only the slightest hesitance, his brother’s mouth opened to him and Papyrus was rewarded with a soft gasp as his phalanges shifted under Sans’ shirt and brushed against his bottom-most ribs. He moved in closer, standing in between his brother’s parted legs and using his right hand to tilt his Sans’ face up towards him for better access to his mouth.  
  
Cautiously, Sans moved his hands as well, bringing them up to press ever-so-minutely against his shoulder blades. Papyrus curled his tongue around Sans’, sucked lightly on it as he deepened their kiss. Sans moaned into his mouth, the sound of it vibrating through him with the heady sense of victory on the horizon.  
  
The other Papyrus could try—with his boisterous laughter and casual touching—but he’d  _never_  have this. Not while he still had it. He’d have to wrest it from him, and Papyrus had never been the type of monster to give up _anything_  without a fight.  
  
“Sans,” he purred, drawing out the sibilant syllables and watching Sans shiver with pleasure at the sound of Papyrus saying his name – not any of the usual derogatory insults, not  _brother_  as Papyrus sometimes used when dismissing their relationship as merely familial, unwanted, and involuntary – with such reverence. Papyrus traced the curve of Sans’s ribs towards the spine and lightly stroked across the vertebrae with his knuckles, the contact between bone and the leather of his gloves smooth and unhindered.  
  
“Ah!” Sans gasped before remembering to silence himself, his eyes darting towards the lounge. There wasn’t even a door to be closed for the pretence of privacy, and while Papyrus was pleased that Sans seemed to have realised what sort of position he was in, the fact that his brother could still  _think_  of his slovenly counterpart while Papyrus was fondling his spine…well, that was just _unacceptable_.  
  
“ _Sans_ ,” he murmured again, and this time there was a familiar edge of warning to it. Sans’s eyes snapped back to him, and instantly his small clawed phalanges (not as dangerous as Papyrus’s; Sans didn’t sharpen them as often as he should despite his brother’s insistence) dug into the bones of Papyrus’s broad shoulders.  
  
“I love you,” Sans breathed back, his voice small, but what it may have lacked in volume was made up by the desperate ferocity of his grip. He scratched his own marks of possession into Papyrus’s scapulae, eliciting a soft growl of approval and a firmer caress down the length of his spine. Sans arched up, teeth gliding fervently over the sharp angles of Papyrus’s jaw and cheekbones, fang entangling with fang as Sans gazed devotedly at his younger brother, not with the hazy softness of his earlier affection for the scoundrel in the living room but with something hot and hungry and  _desperate_.  
  
Papyrus’s own grip tightened, the razor tips of his claws pricking the soft, vulnerable discs of Sans’s spine before he schooled his reaction and tempered his own intense concupiscent urges with the reminder that he had no need to rush. He would go slow, he would have Sans scream for him, he–  
  
“What the actual fuck!?”  
  
Papyrus froze, momentarily alarmed by the realisation that even though he’d never wavered in his vigilance over the kitchen doorway, his counterpart was very suddenly standing in the room. His awful hoodie stood out against the pristine surfaces of the kitchen, a garishly orange blight against good taste that was so completely conspicuous he should never have been able to approach unnoticed. It was an impressive, though faintly terrifying feat.  
  
He turned with deliberate slowness, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around his brother’s spine as Sans let out a squeak of embarrassment and dismay. He forced a smile that was downright grotesque, full of teeth and fury. The bastard was supposed to get an eyeful and retreat with his tail between his legs, not _interrupt_  them. “Dinner’s not ready yet. You’ll have to wait until we’re done.”  
  
The bastard had the gall to look scandalised, his eyesockets wide with shock. “What. The actual. Fuck.”  
  
Papyrus almost rolled his eyes as each word was repeated more slowly and enunciated extra carefully, as if he hadn’t heard the first time. “We’re busy.  _Get out_.”  
  
_Mine_ , he said with every line of his body as he leaned against Sans, his magic thick in the air.  _Mine mine mine. He belongs to me. You can’t have him_.  
  
The sheer ferocity of his intent actually made the other Papyrus flinch back a step, but instead of keeping his attention on the real threat, the bastard had the gall to lock eyes with Sans, looking confused and strangely concerned.  
  
“Sans?” the interloper tried, one hand reaching out abortively towards the smaller skeleton. “Is this… are you…?”  
  
Sans didn’t answer immediately. Instead his brother looked on at his copy, expression rife with panic and remorse. The sight of it made Papyrus feel heavy somewhere in his soul and he had to bite down on the need to instinctively lash out with accusations. He reminded himself that there was no need for that—Sans was  _still_  his and, if Papyrus he stuck to a well-laid plan, that wasn’t going to change any time soon.  
  
“I—”  
  
“Since you seem to be acting  _deliberately_  dense, let me spell this out for you in simpler terms,” Papyrus interrupted quickly for fear of Sans saying something incredibly troublesome. He then proceeded to fiercely ignore the way his brother’s head snapped up towards him with alarm, “We’re fucking.”  
  
He paused to let the statement sink in, watched with barely repressed glee as his (arrogant, pompous,  _self-entitled_ ) double cringed at his curt statement of facts. Out of the corner of his sockets, he could see Sans shrinking away from him but he didn’t linger on it. That could be fixed. (That could  _always_  be fixed.) He straightened his spine, turned his face up at skeleton in front of him.  
  
“ _You_ ,” He enunciated, clear and unmistakable, “Are in the way.”  
  
Another dead ring of silence followed. The other Papyrus kept his gaze focused on Sans the entire time, sockets keen and perceptive. His brother, however, was looking down at the ground with his shoulders hunched and face hidden. Papyrus couldn’t tell the expression he was wearing but he insisted to himself that none of that mattered when there was still a job to be done.  
  
“Okay.” Came the whispered response of his alternate and Papyrus was surprised by how soft it sounded. He whipped his head back to gauge his reaction better—to see if his victory was properly secured over him  _at last_ —but, somehow, by the time he turned his head away from Sans, he was gone. Papyrus was left staring at the empty kitchen doorway, his triumph seeming more anticlimactic than anything else.  
  
Was it really that easy?  
  
After all the shared laughter between the two of them… all the low, murmured talks and familiar, easy touches… well, he’d honestly been expecting more of a fight than  _that_.  
  
A rush of smug achievement stretched a smile across his face.  
  
He supposed it just went to show that no one would  _ever_  be able to take his place.  
  
Papyrus wasn’t Great and Terrible for nothing, after all—he’d  _earned_  his titles. He smirked, feeling much more accomplished with that thought in mind. He turned back to where his brother still sat quietly on the counter.  
  
He leaned in close once more, dropped his voice into a purr, “Now, where were—”  
  
Two palms pushed hard and fast against his chest, knocking him back. Caught off guard, he stumbled backwards, tripping over the slick tiles of their kitchen. He fell to the floor with an undignified yelp. As the clatter of bones on tiles still rang and vibrated through his body, he stared up at his brother in shock.  
  
“Sans—?!”  
  
“What the  _fuck_  was that?!” The skeleton in question growled, hopping off the counter and looking angrier than Papyrus had seen him in a good long while.  
  
He opened his mouth to snap a retort, but Sans apparently wasn’t in the mood to hear it. His left eye flared, and Papyrus felt a cold clench in his chest as his soul was turned blue. With a violent wrench of his arm, Sans sent him skidding across the floor and slamming into the base of their sink with enough force to leave a dent in the cupboard. He fell to the floor, reeling and dizzy and–  
  
–deeply aroused. His brother lost his temper rarely, but when he did, he was frankly magnificent in his anger. Fury and desire burned in his soul, the gentle warmth of their earlier flushed entanglement scorching with bitter, beautiful black.  
  
“Fuck you,” he snarled back, trying to peel himself off the floor with shaking arms only to find himself shoved back down as Sans’s heel stomped onto his shoulder-blades. The sole of his shoe ground against his spine, and he hissed in pain, already feeling breathless.  
  
Against a real threat, he’d have retaliated with magic, but battles between kismeses were more scripted – an elaborate performance that followed convoluted rules to help keep the more volatile feelings of black romance stable. Usually when there was a significant power difference between a couple, the stronger willingly adopted a handicap to ensure their partner could fight on even footing. Papyrus had chosen this; to willingly forgo the use of his magic in any fight with his brother. It pleased him to concede such a mighty impairment and rely on only the strength of his body and his will, since it did nothing but reinforce his own physical prowess compared to his fragile brother. It allowed Sans to keep him at a distance until both of them were too tired to inflict serious harm on each other.  
  
At the moment though, Sans seemed to have little reservation about that. His slight weight shouldn’t have been enough to keep Papyrus down, but he was reinforcing the pressure with his magic, pushing down heavily enough that Papyrus could feel his ribs creak, starting to buckle. He flailed wildly, taking a swipe at Sans’s shins with his claws, but Sans nimbly dodged him, punishing the attempt with a vehement kick to his shoulder-blade.  
  
“Were you just using me to make a point?” Sans spat at him, and beneath the anger Papyrus thought he heard a trace of something more fragile. Was Sans really that upset?  
  
Papyrus had… well, he had been making a point, but it was a very true point! It didn’t at all diminish anything that he and his brother had together. No, in fact it just reinforced how much Papyrus cared. Hadn’t he always done his best to protect his brother’s quadrants? Hadn’t he also established how competently he could fill each role when required so his brother didn’t need to feel bereft of either hate or pity? Wasn’t Papyrus enough for him!?  
  
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Sans went on, practically shaking in his fury, and his next kick was clumsy enough that Papyrus actually heard something crack in an alarming fashion, blinding pain shooting up his spine. It was distracting enough that he almost missed it when Sans blithely went on, “I’m not gonna help you fuck him so don’t you dare pull that bullshit again.”  
  
Papyrus spat an agonised mouthful of saliva and rancid magical bile onto the floor before staring up, bewildered. “What the  _fuck_? I’m not-”  
  
“You are!” Sans snarled, outraged. “You’ve been pitch black for him ever since he showed up and you’ve been flirting with him under my nose like you thought I wouldn’t give a damn and just now you were… what? Gonna pretend to fuck me to make him jealous!? WELL FUCK YOU.”  
  
Papyrus opened his mouth to object that of course he hadn’t been flirting with that ridiculous, knock-off bastard what the ever loving fuck was his brother even implying, but he didn’t get a chance. Sans kicked him in the face, right across the nasal bone, and he saw nothing but stars.


End file.
